In contrast with Helen and Nikki's experience of wide screen cinematic grand drama of the judges' strike, their experiences of their holiday in Paris were of a sequence of picture postcard snapshots what were both intensely pleasurable and intensely spiritual.
******
On the Saturday that John and his fellow judges were recovering from their excesses of the previous night, Helen and Nikki were feverishly at work doing their last minute packing. They had had a very early morning start on Friday, gone on to work, done a full day's work and gone home at the end of a hard week. Consequently, their attempt at packing had been half hearted.
"Oh no," moaned Nikki as the alarm clock rang shrilly into her ear. She sensed Helen positively bound from the bed with a relentless display of early morning energy. "What the hell is the time?"
"Seven o clock, Nikki," came Helen's relentlessly cheery response." Time you were up."
"I can't function this early in the morning. Just another half hour in bed and I'll swear I'll be up."
"In what shape, might I ask? Besides, you were pressing me to be up at the very same hour yesterday," pressed Helen relentlessly." It's all very well wanting us to gad off and help John carry out his street theatre protest. The fun is over and we have simply got to get the packing done in time. Believe you me, we have a third less the amount of time to pack than you think we have. That's the way to organize things."
"You do agree with me that we had a fantastic time yesterday?" wheedled Nikki.
"Babes, I had a great time but the fun is over. This is work and it has to be done," concluded Helen relentlessly, driving home her point with the force of a piledriver.
Moaning to herself, Nikki bowed to the inevitable and slid out of bed.
*******
Many hours later, both their cases were packed with quite an amount of spare space thanks to Nikki's stern restrictions.
" I really didn't want to leave that pair of dark trousers behind," Helen said mournfully." They were special."
"Everything's special, darling. The trouble is that you really want to take your entire wardrobe with you," Nikki retorted with a pointed stare in Helen's direction and a suggestion of a smile at the corner of her lips." Just remember that you will be spending loads of your hard earned money in the Paris boutiques and you won't be livable with if you can't take them back."
"There's an excess baggage allowance," pointed out Helen pertly." This is payback time, you being mean after I got you up nice and early."
"If you had your way, you know very well that we would go catastrophically over the limit. Anyway, you'll be thanking me when we're there," came the infuriatingly smug reply. To be separated from half her clothes was one thing but expecting gratitude for such hard heartedness was rubbing salt in the wounds and Nikki was definitely pushing her luck.
Soon, they were transported out of London's city streets on the way to Heathrow. The built up streets thinned out into the suburbs and Nikki exclaimed with pleasure. She had forgotten how it was like to travel and she was absorbed into the strange, transient world of the airport lounge and numerous officials checking this document and that document with long periods of time sitting around, not talking much. Nikki was wide eyed with wonder in realizing that she was actually on holiday with her beloved and nothing could stop them now. The heightened look in Helen's grey green eyes told Nikki how much she felt the same. Helen felt Nikki's excitement through her clutched fingers as the jet hurled itself upwards into the sky, leaving their stomachs behind the moment the wheels stopped bumping along the runway. On the flight over, Nikki spent time looking out of the window in wonder at the brilliant blue sky, the unbearably bright sun and the fluffy white clouds drifting below her. Helen sat back in her seat, reading the Guardian. She smiled to herself at the third page, which featured the following article.
"Judges strike against proposed bill to curb their power."
In an unprecedented move to block the proposed bill to tighten up drastically on sentencing guidelines, all London's courts were closed for the day by judges mounting picket lines. In unprecedented scenes outside the home office, a group of senior judges heckled Neil Haughton, Home Secretary. John Deed, high court judge and the apparent ringleader was quoted as saying.
'The strike has a clear objective, that the bill which will shackle the freedom of judges be withdrawn. There is a general principle at stake that the executive should back off from its attempt to seize total control over all aspects of society."
A crowd outside the Home Office was largely sympathetic towards the demands of the judges. A Home Office spokesman was unavailable for comment."
She grinned to herself at the photograph. John Deed looked splendidly defiant and distinguished. How the hell would the average holidaymaker consider that the two smartly dressed, respectable looking holidaymakers were part of that unruly crowd? It gave her a comfortable feeling of well-being. She prodded Nikki with the newspaper and a wide grin spread over her face as she drank in the good tidings.
"I'm starting a scrapbook with this article pride of place," Nikki said, half an eye glancing down at their Olympian view of the world at their feet.
******
The hotel they found themselves in on Saturday evening was one of those charming small family type hotels situated just away from the hustle and bustle of the city centre. Both women fell in love with it as soon as they saw it. Nikki's mouth hung open as she set eyes on the stylishly curved banister rail curving its way upstairs, the discreetly hung back curtains and the delicate artwork on the inlay in the ceiling. Both women were struck dumb with admiration that it took them time to adjust to their new surroundings.
"This is incredible," breathed Helen looking all around her, transported into a totally new world. Once she returned to the present, she noticed out of the corner of eye how Nikki was engaged in conversation with the receptionist in rapid French. Helen smiled in appreciation at yet another of Nikki's unexpected talents. Looking sideways at the way she gesticulated as she talked and her dark hair and matching natural elegance yes Nikki was a little French in appearance. This was her way of diving enthusiastically into another milieu.
Helen made her way over to the receptionist with her brilliant smile and ransacked from the recesses of her memory the basic phrases that she had learned at school to check in and sign the register. The receptionist smiled encouragingly at her valiant attempt to assimilate herself in another culture rather than past generations of ignorant English tourists who expected others to talk in their language.
"You are a dark horse, Nikki Wade. You do your best to talk me into travelling to San Francisco and sneakily keep quiet about your own linguistic accomplishments," Helen exclaimed, hands on her hips to a grinning smug Nikki.
"I think we'll need to take the cases up on the lift, Helen," murmured the taller woman unobtrusively.
"Bravo et bon jour," exclaimed the receptionist enthusiastically, without the slightest reservations of the two glamorous mademoiselles who were clearly fond of each other and graced the presence of his hotel with their good manners. They said their 'mercis' to the receptionist in the form of politeness that they were fast assimilating. The two women smiled with appreciation at the way they were treated, not having the slightest preconception in advance of how gay friendly Paris would be. They would have to find that out.
******
Once upstairs, both women were entranced to see the same artistic touches, the creamy white painted walls, which framed the little pictures of famous Parisian scenes, and the half shuttered windows that were archetypally French. Their suitcases were made to fill up the wardrobes, a mini version of the flat they shared in London. A stream of strong sunlight greeted them in the friendliest fashion possible.
"Our very own home from home," sang out Helen as she surveyed the comfortable double bed.
"So what do we do now?"
"Well, sweetheart," Helen said in seductive tones, her grey green eyes fixed on the taller woman," I would really love to visit this romantic city but I feel a bit travel worn from all the rushing around and going through endless controls……"
"You think what it was like being a prisoner," joked Nikki to which Helen gave her a sphinx like smile and started slowly unbuttoning Nikki's shirt.
"….So I think we could do with a nice slow relaxing shower and start as we mean to continue."
"Ummm, I can get really turned on by your bossiness," drawled Nikki in her own smoky tone of voice.
The two women stared at each other, desire rising up in each of them. It was a matter of moments for Nikki to hastily gather in the shower bags and a dishevelled looking Helen to have the foresight to quickly hang a 'do not disturb; sign on the door outside. She was too impatient to do up her shirt buttons all the way up to her neck, while she quickly glanced up and down the darkened corridor to make sure that everything was quiet. She shot back into their bedroom and their clothes fell about them like fallen leaves.
Soon, the feel of rushing water sluiced down their bodies in a way that was both refreshing and arousing. Each of them smoothed shower gel on each other while the spray washed the lather off them. It was heaven for them to be so up close to each other combined with the mingled feeling of running water and the smooth expert touch of fingers. They lovingly caressed each other's bodies and brought each other deliciously closer and closer to orgasm.
"You know what this feels like. I feel that we're two naughty schoolgirls enjoying themselves while teacher's back is turned," Helen said, throatily as she lay on their bed, more decorously dressed in a towel wrapped round her and trying to catch her breath. It struck them that this was the first place they had made love to each other outside their flat. This is what freedom felt and tasted like.
"You are so right, babes," grinned Nikki with lazy aplomb as she leaned back and reached for the hair drier. "I've done that in my time at boarding school."
"Show off," laughed Helen. She might have known.
******
The next day saw them sampling with total verve, the croissants and coffee in the delightfully tasteful basement café, looking at the charming paintings.
They headed off down the narrow cobbled quiet streets, noticing that the cafes were boarded up in the morning. All the buildings had that fascinatingly different look about them. Both women read the passing French word and mentally rolled the words off the tongue as they also noticed the different aromas. The sun cast sharp shadows on the opposite side of the street while they were bathed in sunlight. Both women wore pale coloured trousers, sandals and loose filling tops and felt as adapted to Parisian climes as they could be. Both women chattered as they walked while Helen clutched the street guide and navigated the two of them down the right hand side pavement. When they got near a corner, they came to a cross roads which included a leafy square. Triumphantly, Nikki indicated the Metro sign, indicating the flights of steps leading down to the underground railway deep in the bowels of Paris. Nikki automatically put one foot on the road while automatically looking to the right. She felt a hand feverishly pull her arm and a split second later, a car whizzed out of her blind side across her vision and accelerated off down the street.
"Wrong way, Nikki, for God's sake," yelled Helen.
"Just testing, hey," Nikki answered in strangled tones, a weak smile on her face before the delayed action shock could hit her.
"I don't want to be a widow this early," Helen shouted, a sense of real panic in her voice.
A confused set of feelings ran through Nikki like an electric shock. It hit her how even in the most blissful moment possible, she could run into sudden accidental dangers and how much Helen revealed of her feelings for her. Feelings of remorse flooded through her and she had to improve drastically on her flip aside.
'I'm really sorry, Helen. That was really stupid of me. I should have thought."
"Come here, sweetheart," Helen said in melting tones as she hugged the taller woman and felt her shake as the shock wave hit her. Whatever Parisians felt about two women sharing a moment of intimacy, Helen couldn't give a damn. Out there in the bright sunlight and the feel of the two women up against each other, the black moment of shock passed and the sunlight came back into their souls. They were ready to cross the road but this time, engaged conscious and deliberate planning of their moves to override habit and instinct.
"The Metro's so cleaner and better than the London underground," the taller woman pronounced as their combined French saw them pass the turnstile with smiles from the ticket clerk. The large, clean, airy well-marked tunnels guided them purposefully to the right platform. Everything looked smart and helpful.
"Why, Nikki?"
'Well, it just is." Nikki said vaguely and enthusiastically, her Francophile enthusiasms knowing no bounds. The smoothly running train swept then towards their future and their eyes shone as they were launched on their new adventure.
********
The Louvre stood before them in all its magnificent splendour. Huge rectangular windows looked down at them and the noble archway beckoned them forward. The building spread to left and right of them.
"Shall we go in? After all, this is what you've been talking about all these weeks," murmured Helen in Nikki's ear as the taller woman looked dazed and her feet froze.
"Do you know, Helen, all the time I was in Larkhall, there were times when I dreamed of music to listen to, films to watch and pictures to see. This is a feast for the senses."
A 'soul's awakening' expression spread over Nikki's face and, with great determination she led the way. They floated down to the large underground foyer and gained admission to the vast treasury of art. The huge stone simple classical architecture invited both women to admire and aspire to such grandeur. Floating on air, their feet took them in a leisurely fashion into the huge galleries and picture after picture that were hung up on the walls. Right away, their imaginations took flight at the wealth of artistry on display.
Nikki recalled the front pages of her favourite Victorian novels, cramped and constrained within the average paper book front-page size. The combination of the images summoned up by the written word and the front page gave her a tiny spy hole into a better world. This was that world of the imagination made as near flesh and blood as the past masters of the paintbrush could summon up. With a shock of sudden recognition, a dash of England came into view in the solitary Constable and Turner paintings. Both women smiled approvingly, thinking it fit that such works should be allowed to travel as freely to foreign countries as they themselves could do in this vast assembly of talent on display. There was no limit as they came to the end of each gallery and another invited them onwards through large open doors. Passing into the next gallery, they were conscious of the wide windows that towered towards the top of the spacious roof. They were tempted to move closer to them as the view looked so wide open and liberating. All at once, the brightness of the world outside temporarily blinded them. As soon as their eyes adjusted to it, they took in the width and depth of the courtyard, the fountains where ice-cold water was pushed upwards only to fall back on itself.
They came out of the last stately gallery onto the grand staircases and made their way up to the next floor where the world of the Italian renaissance greeted them. They were accustomed to it as just an accustomed word to be spoken of, or on a printed page, as a throwaway reference. Here it took shape and colour. There was a solemn stillness in the air as many people sedately took their respectful travels. The two women smiled and looked at each other as, in turn, they studied the enigmatic smile of the Mona Lisa whose delicate hands were clasped demurely in front of her. They felt like any other married couple who had shared a lifetime of experience together but to straight couples, casually looking around, who knows how they might have appeared to them and how an artist might paint them?
********
The scenery changed again as they turned to the more practical and decorative purpose of a holiday in Paris. Both women felt that, after the hard slog of the last six months, they definitely deserved to treat themselves to a new wardrobe and anything that took their fancy.
Even then, they were not prepared to see what the Gallerie Lafayette on Boulevard Haussmann had to offer. They found themselves inside a huge domed building. Each segment marked on either side by a column reached up into the pointed latticed top by a series of floors marked by a line of softly glowing light bulbs, which illuminated the subdued lighting and finally rising triumphantly to an ornamental arch. The dome right at the top struck both women most forcibly as a secular version of the Sacre Coeur Cathedral that they had visited the day before. Open-mouthed, Helen and Nikki finally took in the prospect of the breathtakingly wide selection of perfume and cosmetics. Names like Guerlain, Dior, Chanel, Lancome exerted their distant glamour from afar and from down the decades and, here they were, on the very home territory. This was a modern day equivalent of being back in time in a Montmartre café and realising how Toulouse Lautrec was holding court here with his sketchpad. This was the present, of the here and now of French couture and both women was enthralled and up high at the prospect of being part of it.
With exclamations of gratification, both women made a beeline for the nearest perfume stall and the famous names of Bucheron, Chanel and Givenchy leapt out at them. Excitedly, they tested the various perfumes and after much chattering and banter, they made their choice. With the rest of the vast palace making such delirious claims on their attention, they hurried onwards to the lingerie department. To come to Paris and miss out on this section was an equivalent of missing out on the Louvre. Both were impossible to miss.
"I can't decide which dress to buy you, sweetheart," Nikki said in a state of confusion. The floaty black dress and the sheer salmon pink halter dress had equal claims on her attention.
"Buy them both, darling," Helen said breathlessly." I have my eye on this expensive trouser suit that is just made for you. I'm being totally fair."
"OK, darling," breathed Nikki, her dilemma neatly solved.
Many hours later when they had walked twenty times round all the stalls and were finally satisfied with their shopping, they gradually realised how hungry and especially thirsty they were. They studied the directions, which both women were starting to think in terms, as a language to be immersed in, not something to translate in and out of. Sure enough, all signs led to upstairs, to the very crown of the creation.
They rode the modern equivalent of the magic carpet all the way to the sixth floor and their tired legs took them towards the Lafayette Café. Along with the hordes of other shoppers, they queued up in the self-service line and finally helped themselves to deliberately French cuisine and two large near bowl like coffees. They needed something like this to recharge their batteries. They would have liked a view that overlooked Paris but that was possible. They ended up in their small island of tired contentment, surrounded by an ever shifting and perpetual chorus of murmurous satisfied voices. They looked at each other and smiled.
"Now you see why we had to cut back on the packing, Helen," Nikki said as she nibbled her food while she was chatting. She could not honestly single mindedly just eat up her food while they were bathing together in this ocean of heightened pleasures.
"All right, smart arse. I can now see that you were not being deliberately and miserably Puritan," grinned Helen back. They were both weighed down by a number of shopping bags that they both knew they would have to lug back to the hotel. For once, they could do with a taxi to get back home.
"Me a Puritan? After the months of living together, can you honestly say that I deny you pleasures out of guilt?"
Helen saw how Nikki's expression was clear and open and utterly free from tension. She was dead right.
*******
The Left Bank of Paris conveyed that majesty of intellectual achievement that had been on the periphery of Nikki's quest through the ages. With a sigh of satisfaction, Nikki slid into the bookshops and had mixed feelings that all the vast array of learning was written in French. It gave her mixed feelings as she respected the sturdy independence of the country she visited but questioned whether or not when they returned to England if she would read them. Reluctantly, she concluded that London bookshops had what was on offer.
They were walking across a triangular square and at its base an ornamental building with pillars on either side took their attention, A female carved statue stood, pride of place on top of a sculpted fountain, down which water ran down to the wide basin and so commandeered the attention of the square with the assistance of the carved winged riders, set on their plinths. What grabbed their attention was the trio of musicians who suddenly struck up their song with a rattle of the congas, a looping bassline and the golden voiced black man who strummed his way into their song.
"No, woman, no cry;
No, woman,
no cry;
No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry."
"Helen, we must listen to this artist," Nikki's voice muttered with intensity, clutching Helen's arm. Something had been unlocked within her by the intensity of the singing and the loose ramshackle rhythms that sounded so compulsively right. Fortunately, they were wearing jeans and T-shirts today, reserving their new Parisian outfits for when they went
out at nights. Instinctively, they sat down on the smooth worn stones of the square, on the front row of the ring of people who instantly composed the audience. The informal feel of the occasion felt good to them as the sun beat down on them.
"I remember when we used to sit
In
the government yard in Trenchtown,
Observing the all the
hypocrites.
As they would mingle with the good people we
meet.
Good friends we have, oh, good friends we've lost
Along
the way.
In this great future, you can't forget your past;
so
dry your tears, I say."
Tears sprang into Helen's eyes as the lyrics so forcibly expressed her life, the struggles she had fought in past years to become herself against the odds, the devious backstabbers and all the loving support that she had. Yes, they had friends of the most unexpected kinds, including a greying haired heterosexual man back in England whose ideals they had become a living part of so recently. She marvelled at Nikki's eager enthusiasm for every good experience around them, the mingled sexual pleasure and running water in their home away from home, the simple pleasure of engaging her French with those they happened to meet, experiencing the high culture of the Louvre, to selecting their material pleasures in the modern temple to good taste and finally Paris meets Jamaica on the Left Bank. She could afford to feel that way, as she was no follower, dragging her feet behind the other woman's lead. She could match Nikki every step of the way through their life as it opened up and showed them the riches if they had the eye and mind to see it.
"Everything's gonna be all
right!
Everything's gonna be all right!
Everything's gonna be
all right!
Everything's gonna be all right!"
Yeah, Nikki breathed intensely, clapping along with the rhythm as the song approached its own climax and the chorus blew away all the blues the writer had ever suffered into something like exaltation. In comparison with the money that they had quite rightly spent on clothes, jewellery and perfumes, they simply had to drop their notes in the guitar case left out, to give back in return for the spiritual experience that they had been blessed with. Helen met Nikki's eye and understood without saying.
****
It was later that evening when Nikki and Helen had looked up the whereabouts of a lesbian bar that they decided to make best use of their purchases and spent an infinity of time showering, applying their makeup and generally getting ready. Both women were having slight reservations at the feverish way they had bought their clothes.
Nikki looked open mouthed at the vision of loveliness that Helen presented to her. Her full breasts were shaped by the bodice of the low cut dress supported by narrow straps which supported the high-waisted floaty semi see through dress that fell down to a flirty satin- encircled hem. Her carefully applied makeup added subtle touches to her slightly sun tanned skin. A pair of Prada 3 ½ inch open toe black sling backs completed the picture of Paradise.
"Will I do, babes?"
"I can't believe what I'm seeing, Helen. You look totally ravishing. I'm not sure I'll have the self-control to let you out the door. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll be with you."
It was Helen's turn to gasp in wonder. Nikki's lipstick and makeup had been carefully applied and every hair in place. Helen virtually swooned at Nikki standing foursquare before her dressed in a close fitting exquisite white suit. Her close fitting jacket was cunningly shaped downwards over her breasts from its Mandarin collar with the aid of the row of buttons down from her shapely neck. The trousers were flared outwards elegantly from her tight waist and accentuated her height and her long legs. A pair of neat open toes sandals completed the picture. It accentuated her slightly androgynous sexuality that only a woman could fall for.
Arm in arm, they walked down the elegant staircase that was made for their entrance and the female receptionist's eyes were opened wide in wonder as they floated out and slipped into their taxi.