The same object again came crashing in front of Jack and Fabrizio. Fabri
flipped from his stomach onto his back.
"Aye!"
"Holy shit!" shouted Jack trying to grab onto Fabrizio's arm has he leapt back to the floor. Both boys fell against the uneven wooden floor again. Fabrizio winced. He came right down on his elbow.
Jack looked up to see who their attacker was. It laughed. She was laughing like someone just told a joke.
"Maybe if we crack our skulls open she would laugh harder." Fabri groaned.
The woman, probably some prostitute so jaded by sex she had to scare people for kicks, picked up her weapon. A crutch.
"Uh.je regrette.no parle."
"I think it's 'parlons'" Fabri nudged Jack.
"It doesn't matter.nous ne parlons pas de français."
She laughed again. "Je ne parle pas d'anglais."
"She's only got one leg." Jack remarked.
"Sshh!" Fabrizio desparately whispered harshly.
"What? She just said she doesn't speak English." Jack shrugged and got up. "And she's still missing a leg. I was just pointing out something odd that I saw."
"You were the one that said you hated it when people talked about someone in front of them when they were right there." Fabrizio rose, nursing his bruised elbow.
"She doesn't understand us, I'm not judging her, but I'm just calling attention to the one-legged prostitute that tried to kill us. It's an abnormality; I find it interesting." The one-legged prostitute looked on with amused curiosity. Arms crossed, but smiling.
"You're an abnormality."
Jack glared at his friend. ".That was a good one." He grinned.
"I know." Fabri shrugged, cracking a smile.
Jack looked at the woman. She was pretty-gorgeous even, not like most of the hookers they saw. She wore little if any makeup, she didn't wear a wig, and she had very normal hair, straight and brown, tied halfway up. She was svelte and fair. She put her cigarette to her lips quite gracefully. She had the most graceful, beautiful hands Jack had ever seen. Beautiful, but strong.
"So, um.mademoiselle." Mademoiselle cocked an eyebrow. "Looking for café.owner by the name of Millet.on this street, er rue.café.Millet."
"Ah oui, Le Petit Café d'Amies?" They nodded. "Cent vingt-trois rue d'apoil."
"Oui, signorina!" Fabrizio clapped.
"Merci beaucoup!" Jack jumped. "We're not unemployed! .Oh, je regrette, we gotta go about now.au revoir, mademoiselle." Jack turned to the door.
"Au revoir." Fabrizio waved and began to follow Jack.
"Au revoir, garcons.et.if you see Jean tell him and zee others I'll be about fifteen minutes late tonight. One of my regulars iss in town."
The two teenagers stared with their mouths open. ".You speak English." Jack finally said.
"Yes, I'm full of surprises, am I not?"
"Perfect English!" Fabrizio piped up.
"More than we can say for some people." Jack grinned.
"Shut you the mouth!"
"See what I mean." Why was Jack firing all the shots today?
"I'm sorry, if only the world spoke *my* language. Communication would be so much easier for me."
"You got a name, miss?" asked Jack.
"Yes, of course."
.They waited, but that appeared to be her complete answer.
"Can you tell us what it is.both first and last perhaps.?" Jack asked.
"Ah, yes. I am called Simone.Simone LeClerc."
"Jack Dawson." He stuck out his hand.
"Fabrizio."
"Why do you never use your last name?" Jack asked his friend.
"What you mean?"
"He only introduces himself with his first name," he told Simone, "his name's De Rossi by the way," he turned back to Fabri, "people don't know you as anything but Fabrizio unless *I* tell them."
"I like being on first name basis with people. And I didn't like having to use the name of Corbo."
"They can still know your last name. What if someone needs to give you credit for something? What are they going to write? Just 'Fabrizio.' If ever I write a story about us everyone is going to have a last name but you. Jack Dawson, Simone LeClerc, Jean Millet, Octavia and Catalina De Rossi and *Fabrizio.*"
"Aren't you boys late for Jean's father?"
"Shit!" The buddies turned to each other, forgetting about Fabrizio's last name and the surrounding controversy.
They waved and ran out. Simone smiled and flopped down on the sofa, sighing. The sunlight just began to pour in. It was this time of day the sun hit this side of the block. Her thoughts were dancing between Paris in spring and the funny young boys she had just met when they ran back in. Something was on their mind.
"I speak German, too." Simone answered.
Jack, about to speak, paused in a moment of confusion. "No, what are the names of 'the others'.Jean and your other friends."
"Pierre and Marie.zere a couple.Pierre Bonaparte and Marie Auguste." she winked at them, "a few others show up, too.all very friendly and fun, except for zee Austrian, stay avay from him."
"Alright thanks, see you later I suppose." Jack nodded and they left. "See Fab, last names!" Simone heard as they ran out.
"Fab? Don't call me 'Fab'!"
Simone grabbed her crutch and scurried to the door. She called down the stairs. "Wait!"
Fabrizio and Jack Dawson looked up at a panicked Simone LeClerc. Her question seemed urgent.
"I only have one leg?"
***
The boys washed dishes and swept floors at Le Petit Café d'Amies. It was rather dull work, but Jean's father was pretty easy going and the pay was enough. After work ended at 8 they joined the others for dinner and nights on the town.
June 1, 1910 Dear Em, You wanted to know about me and Fabri's new friends. So here's the run down: Jean Millet-he's 16, naïve and shy with scruffy black hair, think of him like a skinny Milo. His dad owns the café. Then there's Marie Auguste and Pierre Bonaparte-no, he's not sure if he's related to Napoleon. I'm not too sure; he's kind of tall and lanky like me, and has no goals of world domination. His only goal is to marry Marie. They're 18 and have been engaged for a year now, but they don't have enough money for a proper wedding or a household. Marie's very pretty. She's got perfect peach skin and rosy cheeks, a round face with small features, tiny hands and feet, and soft, curly hair the color of cherry oak wood. Then there's Simone LeClerc. She's about thirty, brunette, and I swear she has the loveliest hands I've ever seen. She usually looks like a gypsy, wearing a bandana in her hair and big hoop earrings. She's really funny- and she's only got half of her right leg. Good thing she's a lefty. I'm not joking. I'd tell you the reason for the leg, but every time it come up she gives a new story. She has one leg, grew up on the streets of Paris and has never left-but she speaks fluent English and German. Most of the people 'round here can speak some English and sometimes German. But Simone speaks them both very well. To round it off she's got a very interesting profession, but I can't tell you what it is till your older. Love, Jack P.S. I think that Sonny kid likes you.
July 14, 1910 Dear Jack, I'm eleven! Say Happy Birthday! Jack, I know what a prostitute is. Jesus. Do you think I'm that naïve? I'm *eleven*, not some child for Godsakes. I'd have more to say in this letter, but I've been pretty much grounded for the past two week. I was out being a good citizen and supporting the Giants whilst a God damn Highlander dared to bring in two runners. I threw a rock at him and called him a cheating shit. If me and Mare want to go back any time soon we have to dress up as boys. We probably will. I really hate the Highlanders, I do. Oh, and now mom and dad are making me put pennies in a swear jar. I'm broke. It isn't God damn fair! I hope it isn't as hot in Paris as it is here. Love your cousin, Emily P.S. If I do find that Sonny's sweet on me I'll beat him up again.
"How does she know what a hooker is? That's frightening." Jack laid his letter down.
"Well, you say she curse and throw rocks at unassuming athletes, no?"
"I swear, one day.she'll either save the world or destroy it."
***
Jack and Fabri skipped along down to the pub. It was a perfect summer night with a cool breeze subtlety floating through the warm air. It would be the life of his dreams, Jack thought, if only his family and friends back home could come to visit and his mother and father could send him letters asking if he was washing his face twice a day and shaving evenly.
*Mom and Dad.*
He thought about the two of them dancing in the rain and how content they were, how his whole life was so sweet and safe until two summers ago. In days where children were meant to be seen and not heard mom and dad always wanted to know what he thought and felt, when parents beating children was just a part of discipline they never laid an angry hand on him. And the other half of his family was an ocean away. His hometown was minus an entire family and his three best friends were maturing and shaping their lives without him.
Then he thought of Fabrizio. Beaten, hated by a man who should have loved him, a child that had to protect the adult that should have been protecting him. He thought of Simone. She put food on her table by surrendering herself to strangers. What should be about love was about money. What should be good old-fashioned fun was about a day's labor-and sometimes shutting your eyes and pretending it's something else.
"Jack!" Fabrizio woke him from his thoughts. "Hurry up!"
They found the usuals waiting for them at the bar. Jean was blowing bubbles in his beer, Pierre had his arm around Marie as Marie stared into space, and Simone rested her chin on her crutch and absently played with one of her hoops while talking about something to the others.
"Bon soir!" Marie smiled warmly.
"Salut all." Jack gave a little wave.
"You're ten minutes late, foreigners." Pierre shook his finger.
"Shoot us." Fabri dared.
"Believe me sometimes I'd like to take out the town, especially him." Pierre pointed to guy a little older than the teenagers across the bar.
"Stupid Austrian pig." Jean grumbled.
"I told you could take him if you wanted to." Pierre looked at Jean.
"I don't like fighting, even if you win you still have to get hit."
"So that's Adolf." Jack looked at him curiously. He noticed he had a sketchpad. He looked like a bit of a sour puss, but maybe he wasn't all bad. A fellow artist.
"Oh, leave him be, Jack, if you wish to talk a Ihospitable/I oddball I suggest Madame Bijoux," Marie daintily took another sip of her water, "she'll give you her life story and buy you a drink.though I'm not sure if it's the truth, but I am sure she thinks it is." It was too anyway; Jack was already talking to 'the unpleasant one.' Marie shrugged her shoulders.
"Hey there," Jack approached the other young man, "hey, I like to draw, too and I noticed-"
"Leave me alone!" Adolf angrily pulled his drawings away, startled.
"I think you're pretty good." Jack tried, fingering his portfolio.
"Listen, just please go away. Please." Adolf put his hand up and Jack shrunk back towards his friends.
"Did you see how his veins get puffy when he gets upset?" Simone asked gleefully.
"Simone likes to get rises out of him." Marie said.
"I don't see how you have to tweak him even more, he'll only get more deranged and more creepy. You're sadistic, Simone," Jean shook his finger, "remember how you scared Jack and Fabri when they first came here?"
Simone smirked as if she'd just been flattered.
After drinks and talking and laughing everyone said goodbye. Simone was on her way out, lighting up a cigarette when Jack put a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, Simone.can I ask you a favor?"
Simone looked at him skeptically. "Do you want a favor or a *favor*?
"Oh no," Jack laughed, "just a regular favor.you're too much.like a mother to me in way."
"I don't think I'm quite like any mother you've ever known."
"Alright, a very strange aunt, but can I please ask you this?"
"Yes and I swear on my right leg I'll do whatever it is, my friend." She held up her right hand.
"You don't have a right leg."
"I have half of one."
"Listen, Mone, well, you know I'm really love drawing and art.it's this is gonna sound strange, but.can I draw your hands?"
"My hands?"
"You've got great hands."
"Zat's zee first time I've heard zat in zat context."
"Please."
"Yes, virgin, you have me pegged, I'll do it. Draw my hands! Immortalize me!"
"Thank you so much!" he hugged her, lifting her off the ground. She crowed with glee and amusement.
"Next, all you need is a nice girl." They started walking home.
"Vianne." Jack declared. Vianne was a local girl that both Jack and Fabrizio had had their eyes on.
"Slut! I said nice girl!"
"Oh, that's not the pot calling the kettle open."
"Now what did I tell you?"
"Sluts are merely loose, but whores and working women." Jack repeated rhythmically, bobbing his head side to side.
"Ah, my little proverbs and advice.zee best education you get can get ziss side of Paris."
The two rather unlikely friends strolled home, just two elements, two little lights in a grand, bustling city.
"Aye!"
"Holy shit!" shouted Jack trying to grab onto Fabrizio's arm has he leapt back to the floor. Both boys fell against the uneven wooden floor again. Fabrizio winced. He came right down on his elbow.
Jack looked up to see who their attacker was. It laughed. She was laughing like someone just told a joke.
"Maybe if we crack our skulls open she would laugh harder." Fabri groaned.
The woman, probably some prostitute so jaded by sex she had to scare people for kicks, picked up her weapon. A crutch.
"Uh.je regrette.no parle."
"I think it's 'parlons'" Fabri nudged Jack.
"It doesn't matter.nous ne parlons pas de français."
She laughed again. "Je ne parle pas d'anglais."
"She's only got one leg." Jack remarked.
"Sshh!" Fabrizio desparately whispered harshly.
"What? She just said she doesn't speak English." Jack shrugged and got up. "And she's still missing a leg. I was just pointing out something odd that I saw."
"You were the one that said you hated it when people talked about someone in front of them when they were right there." Fabrizio rose, nursing his bruised elbow.
"She doesn't understand us, I'm not judging her, but I'm just calling attention to the one-legged prostitute that tried to kill us. It's an abnormality; I find it interesting." The one-legged prostitute looked on with amused curiosity. Arms crossed, but smiling.
"You're an abnormality."
Jack glared at his friend. ".That was a good one." He grinned.
"I know." Fabri shrugged, cracking a smile.
Jack looked at the woman. She was pretty-gorgeous even, not like most of the hookers they saw. She wore little if any makeup, she didn't wear a wig, and she had very normal hair, straight and brown, tied halfway up. She was svelte and fair. She put her cigarette to her lips quite gracefully. She had the most graceful, beautiful hands Jack had ever seen. Beautiful, but strong.
"So, um.mademoiselle." Mademoiselle cocked an eyebrow. "Looking for café.owner by the name of Millet.on this street, er rue.café.Millet."
"Ah oui, Le Petit Café d'Amies?" They nodded. "Cent vingt-trois rue d'apoil."
"Oui, signorina!" Fabrizio clapped.
"Merci beaucoup!" Jack jumped. "We're not unemployed! .Oh, je regrette, we gotta go about now.au revoir, mademoiselle." Jack turned to the door.
"Au revoir." Fabrizio waved and began to follow Jack.
"Au revoir, garcons.et.if you see Jean tell him and zee others I'll be about fifteen minutes late tonight. One of my regulars iss in town."
The two teenagers stared with their mouths open. ".You speak English." Jack finally said.
"Yes, I'm full of surprises, am I not?"
"Perfect English!" Fabrizio piped up.
"More than we can say for some people." Jack grinned.
"Shut you the mouth!"
"See what I mean." Why was Jack firing all the shots today?
"I'm sorry, if only the world spoke *my* language. Communication would be so much easier for me."
"You got a name, miss?" asked Jack.
"Yes, of course."
.They waited, but that appeared to be her complete answer.
"Can you tell us what it is.both first and last perhaps.?" Jack asked.
"Ah, yes. I am called Simone.Simone LeClerc."
"Jack Dawson." He stuck out his hand.
"Fabrizio."
"Why do you never use your last name?" Jack asked his friend.
"What you mean?"
"He only introduces himself with his first name," he told Simone, "his name's De Rossi by the way," he turned back to Fabri, "people don't know you as anything but Fabrizio unless *I* tell them."
"I like being on first name basis with people. And I didn't like having to use the name of Corbo."
"They can still know your last name. What if someone needs to give you credit for something? What are they going to write? Just 'Fabrizio.' If ever I write a story about us everyone is going to have a last name but you. Jack Dawson, Simone LeClerc, Jean Millet, Octavia and Catalina De Rossi and *Fabrizio.*"
"Aren't you boys late for Jean's father?"
"Shit!" The buddies turned to each other, forgetting about Fabrizio's last name and the surrounding controversy.
They waved and ran out. Simone smiled and flopped down on the sofa, sighing. The sunlight just began to pour in. It was this time of day the sun hit this side of the block. Her thoughts were dancing between Paris in spring and the funny young boys she had just met when they ran back in. Something was on their mind.
"I speak German, too." Simone answered.
Jack, about to speak, paused in a moment of confusion. "No, what are the names of 'the others'.Jean and your other friends."
"Pierre and Marie.zere a couple.Pierre Bonaparte and Marie Auguste." she winked at them, "a few others show up, too.all very friendly and fun, except for zee Austrian, stay avay from him."
"Alright thanks, see you later I suppose." Jack nodded and they left. "See Fab, last names!" Simone heard as they ran out.
"Fab? Don't call me 'Fab'!"
Simone grabbed her crutch and scurried to the door. She called down the stairs. "Wait!"
Fabrizio and Jack Dawson looked up at a panicked Simone LeClerc. Her question seemed urgent.
"I only have one leg?"
***
The boys washed dishes and swept floors at Le Petit Café d'Amies. It was rather dull work, but Jean's father was pretty easy going and the pay was enough. After work ended at 8 they joined the others for dinner and nights on the town.
June 1, 1910 Dear Em, You wanted to know about me and Fabri's new friends. So here's the run down: Jean Millet-he's 16, naïve and shy with scruffy black hair, think of him like a skinny Milo. His dad owns the café. Then there's Marie Auguste and Pierre Bonaparte-no, he's not sure if he's related to Napoleon. I'm not too sure; he's kind of tall and lanky like me, and has no goals of world domination. His only goal is to marry Marie. They're 18 and have been engaged for a year now, but they don't have enough money for a proper wedding or a household. Marie's very pretty. She's got perfect peach skin and rosy cheeks, a round face with small features, tiny hands and feet, and soft, curly hair the color of cherry oak wood. Then there's Simone LeClerc. She's about thirty, brunette, and I swear she has the loveliest hands I've ever seen. She usually looks like a gypsy, wearing a bandana in her hair and big hoop earrings. She's really funny- and she's only got half of her right leg. Good thing she's a lefty. I'm not joking. I'd tell you the reason for the leg, but every time it come up she gives a new story. She has one leg, grew up on the streets of Paris and has never left-but she speaks fluent English and German. Most of the people 'round here can speak some English and sometimes German. But Simone speaks them both very well. To round it off she's got a very interesting profession, but I can't tell you what it is till your older. Love, Jack P.S. I think that Sonny kid likes you.
July 14, 1910 Dear Jack, I'm eleven! Say Happy Birthday! Jack, I know what a prostitute is. Jesus. Do you think I'm that naïve? I'm *eleven*, not some child for Godsakes. I'd have more to say in this letter, but I've been pretty much grounded for the past two week. I was out being a good citizen and supporting the Giants whilst a God damn Highlander dared to bring in two runners. I threw a rock at him and called him a cheating shit. If me and Mare want to go back any time soon we have to dress up as boys. We probably will. I really hate the Highlanders, I do. Oh, and now mom and dad are making me put pennies in a swear jar. I'm broke. It isn't God damn fair! I hope it isn't as hot in Paris as it is here. Love your cousin, Emily P.S. If I do find that Sonny's sweet on me I'll beat him up again.
"How does she know what a hooker is? That's frightening." Jack laid his letter down.
"Well, you say she curse and throw rocks at unassuming athletes, no?"
"I swear, one day.she'll either save the world or destroy it."
***
Jack and Fabri skipped along down to the pub. It was a perfect summer night with a cool breeze subtlety floating through the warm air. It would be the life of his dreams, Jack thought, if only his family and friends back home could come to visit and his mother and father could send him letters asking if he was washing his face twice a day and shaving evenly.
*Mom and Dad.*
He thought about the two of them dancing in the rain and how content they were, how his whole life was so sweet and safe until two summers ago. In days where children were meant to be seen and not heard mom and dad always wanted to know what he thought and felt, when parents beating children was just a part of discipline they never laid an angry hand on him. And the other half of his family was an ocean away. His hometown was minus an entire family and his three best friends were maturing and shaping their lives without him.
Then he thought of Fabrizio. Beaten, hated by a man who should have loved him, a child that had to protect the adult that should have been protecting him. He thought of Simone. She put food on her table by surrendering herself to strangers. What should be about love was about money. What should be good old-fashioned fun was about a day's labor-and sometimes shutting your eyes and pretending it's something else.
"Jack!" Fabrizio woke him from his thoughts. "Hurry up!"
They found the usuals waiting for them at the bar. Jean was blowing bubbles in his beer, Pierre had his arm around Marie as Marie stared into space, and Simone rested her chin on her crutch and absently played with one of her hoops while talking about something to the others.
"Bon soir!" Marie smiled warmly.
"Salut all." Jack gave a little wave.
"You're ten minutes late, foreigners." Pierre shook his finger.
"Shoot us." Fabri dared.
"Believe me sometimes I'd like to take out the town, especially him." Pierre pointed to guy a little older than the teenagers across the bar.
"Stupid Austrian pig." Jean grumbled.
"I told you could take him if you wanted to." Pierre looked at Jean.
"I don't like fighting, even if you win you still have to get hit."
"So that's Adolf." Jack looked at him curiously. He noticed he had a sketchpad. He looked like a bit of a sour puss, but maybe he wasn't all bad. A fellow artist.
"Oh, leave him be, Jack, if you wish to talk a Ihospitable/I oddball I suggest Madame Bijoux," Marie daintily took another sip of her water, "she'll give you her life story and buy you a drink.though I'm not sure if it's the truth, but I am sure she thinks it is." It was too anyway; Jack was already talking to 'the unpleasant one.' Marie shrugged her shoulders.
"Hey there," Jack approached the other young man, "hey, I like to draw, too and I noticed-"
"Leave me alone!" Adolf angrily pulled his drawings away, startled.
"I think you're pretty good." Jack tried, fingering his portfolio.
"Listen, just please go away. Please." Adolf put his hand up and Jack shrunk back towards his friends.
"Did you see how his veins get puffy when he gets upset?" Simone asked gleefully.
"Simone likes to get rises out of him." Marie said.
"I don't see how you have to tweak him even more, he'll only get more deranged and more creepy. You're sadistic, Simone," Jean shook his finger, "remember how you scared Jack and Fabri when they first came here?"
Simone smirked as if she'd just been flattered.
After drinks and talking and laughing everyone said goodbye. Simone was on her way out, lighting up a cigarette when Jack put a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, Simone.can I ask you a favor?"
Simone looked at him skeptically. "Do you want a favor or a *favor*?
"Oh no," Jack laughed, "just a regular favor.you're too much.like a mother to me in way."
"I don't think I'm quite like any mother you've ever known."
"Alright, a very strange aunt, but can I please ask you this?"
"Yes and I swear on my right leg I'll do whatever it is, my friend." She held up her right hand.
"You don't have a right leg."
"I have half of one."
"Listen, Mone, well, you know I'm really love drawing and art.it's this is gonna sound strange, but.can I draw your hands?"
"My hands?"
"You've got great hands."
"Zat's zee first time I've heard zat in zat context."
"Please."
"Yes, virgin, you have me pegged, I'll do it. Draw my hands! Immortalize me!"
"Thank you so much!" he hugged her, lifting her off the ground. She crowed with glee and amusement.
"Next, all you need is a nice girl." They started walking home.
"Vianne." Jack declared. Vianne was a local girl that both Jack and Fabrizio had had their eyes on.
"Slut! I said nice girl!"
"Oh, that's not the pot calling the kettle open."
"Now what did I tell you?"
"Sluts are merely loose, but whores and working women." Jack repeated rhythmically, bobbing his head side to side.
"Ah, my little proverbs and advice.zee best education you get can get ziss side of Paris."
The two rather unlikely friends strolled home, just two elements, two little lights in a grand, bustling city.