Montmartre, July 1910
"You must help, Jack." Jean pleaded.
"It's your building not mine. You need to take it upon yourself to take action. It took Hamlet forever to take action and look what happened to him." Jack sat on the grass continuing to sketch the picnicking elderly couple.
"I'm not a Danish prince, I'm a French waiter."
"Adolf's not much of a fighter. He's an artist like me. He just sits up on the hill and doodles like the rest of us, even if he is a bit of sour grape.and he threw a rotten apple at me when I talked to Vianne-"
"She's trouble."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Adolf." Jack changed the subject.
Jack was about to protest. He didn't like the kid, but ousting him from Pierre, Marie, and Jean's apartment building was not exactly on his to-do list.
"Alright, Dawson," Pierre sat down next to him, "you need to get that whiny artist out of our floor." Great, Jean had brought his French army with him.not that the French army was exactly a force to be reckoned with.
"Hey, watch the 'whiny artist' bit.and you either have to deal with him or get him out yourselves.and why are you asking me?"
"Because you are the big, tough American hot shot." Simone gave him a comradely punch in the arm.
"I'm not big and tough. I'm a whiny artist, remember?" Jack half-smiled, "if you want brawns ask Fabri, he's stronger than I am."
"You have good people skills," said Marie, "and you are that cute little, baby-faced boy that everyone adores." She pinched his cheek patronizingly.
"Stop it," Jack smirked, "you're making me blush."
It took forever and a day to get them to leave him alone, but they gave up eventually. Jean stayed the longest. For a shy kid, he was pretty persistent.
"I tell you. It is a good idea."
"See you tonight, Jean."
"Fine. You know, I will do this myself. I don't need you." Jean started walking down the hill past all the artists seeking inspiration. Jack looked forlornly at his sketchbook. He'd been desperate to draw all day, but between work at the café he had no time. And Simone had been putting him off about being drawn.
*Finally*, Jack thought and smiled sweetly at his art. "Alright, I'm back again." Interrupted Jean. *Why, God?!*
"Now what?"
"Can I borrow three sous? I'm taking Catherine out tonight." Jack normally would have refused, but it was not so often that Jean worked up the bravery to talk to a girl so he begrudgingly reached into his pockets.
"Am I ever gonna see this again?" Jack asked.
"Of course, of course.and think about the whole Adolf thing!" Jean skipped down the hill.
Jack ran his through his hair as the summer wind blew in his face. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had a feeling he was in for a long week.
***
Manhattan, That same day
It was a blazing hot day in Midtown and it was getting even hotter on Tenth Avenue. And all because of an eleven year-old.
"FREE MANHATTAN!" Emily Dawson hollered, standing on a soapbox. She had been screaming that for that past twenty minutes whilst rambling about oppression and dictators. She hopped off her box and left when she got bored.
"You had a bit of crowd there." Her best friend, Mary McBride smiled.
"I know. I didn't even know what I was talking about! It was amazing!"
"I don't know. But protesting in the street and shouting and all that always seemed kind of self-centered and obnoxious, even if Maggie and Joe say it's a sign of a healthy democracy."
"Eh," sighed Em, "I was hoping for a riot or something, but maybe next time."
"Riots are fun," Mary nodded thoughtfully, "I still say you're crazy though."
"My dad said that H.G. Wells said that moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.whatever that means."
"Your dad knows a lot of quotes."
"Yeah, especially Oscar Wilde."
***
"You think we win?" Fabrizio twirled a bat, ready for some baseball in the park.
"What are you kiddin' me?" laughed his best friend, "Simone has one leg and Adolf's crazy."
"You still taking them up on that offer to kick him out?"
"No. I think Jean needs to learn to take his own initiative. And just because I'm American doesn't mean I'm trained in bar fights. I grew up on a farm with my dad teaching me how to fish and my mama fussing with my hair. Don't those four realize they're the tough city people.then again Emily grew up with me, she's tough.but she's crazy."
"Are we starting this thing?" Pierre hit Fabrizio in the back.
"Oui! Let's go!" giggled Marie, who came skipping up behind them. Cherry wood hair, rosie cheeks and all.
"Nice uniform, Marie. Professional?"
"Marie in a skirt, extra points for team Jack, Fabrizio, and a few others." Fabrizio whispered to his best friend. Jack nodded mischievously. Baseball in a skirt. Who would've thought?
"Mmmm?" Marie inquired.
"Nothing." They laughed.
"Laugh now." Pierre smirked.
"Baseball is an American sport. You're in my country now, boy." Jack stared him. He was now in his baseball frame of mind. It was time to take out the trash.
***
"This is a farce." Jack looked on in disbelief. Sure enough they were winning.because the other team either lacked skill or general knowledge of the game.
Marie threw like the girl she was, but she could hit all right. Unfortunately, she kept running to third after each crack of the bat. That and her skirts kept dragging her down.
"Other way! Other way! Go to first! First! Go to the right!" Jack shouted.
Every time Adolf struck out or messed up in any way shape or form he threw a fit.
"Nein! Nein!" He would throw his mitt to the ground.
"Get over it!" Fabrizio shouted. "Stupid German." He said quietly to Jack.
"He's Austrian."
"He feels more German. More crazy."
Then there was Jean, who was on Jack and Fabrizio's team. Jean picked flowers in the outfield and played more like a girl than Marie.
"Like this. Hold the bat like this. Choke up more. It's not a dainty loaf of pastry, Jean. It's a baseball bat." Jack moved Jean's hands farther up the bat. "It is a large, wooden baseball bat. It is a powerful, manly instrument that you will use to swing the shit out of that ball." Jack shook his fists for emphasis on every word. "Tell me you can do this, Jean."
"Oui! Oui! Je peux!" P "That's the spirit, kid!"
Laurent Guerin pulled back and delivered a pitch.Jean swung with all his might. He spun around and hit himself square in the behind with the bat, and fell awkwardly to the ground. Laurent had a lousy arm; the ball went a few two feet over Jean's head.
"Bastard." He whispered weakly.
"Jean! Jean!" Fabri ran over to help up his poor friend.
"You alright?" Jack asked.
"Right in the ass! Brilliance!" Simone roared as Jean lay on his stomach.
"I didn't think that was humanly possible!" laughed Pierre.
"Were you two born this sensitive or did you have to practice?" Marie looked at Simone and Pierre. Poor Jean was utterly crushed.
"I'm sorry, buddy."
"I want to go home."
Jack shook his head and looked mournfully over at Fabrizio.
"The French can't play ball."
***
"I can't believe we left a game unfinished." Jack sighed.
"I don't know about you, but I couldn't take no more."
"Yeah, I guess.the baseball gods won't like this."
"Do the 'baseball gods' like your cousin trying to put a curse on the Highlanders?"
"I don't think it's possible to curse the Highlanders. I just don't feel it ever happening. Maybe there could be a curse on the Red Sox. I could see that."
"I'm going to have to get L'America just so I can know these teams you talk about."
"Today, *L'America* turns 134. Back home there's fireworks going off everywhere. July 4 is just about the best holiday next to Christmas."
"You take me to see the fireworks one day?"
"Absolutely, I'll buy you a frankfurter and some ice cream, and maybe even win you a bear."
"Is touching, but I saw the drawing of your aunt. She's much cuter than you. You're a bit scruffy."
"What are you saying about my aunt?" P "Nothing! Nothing! It's what I'm thinking about her that should make you mad!"
Jack whapped him in the back with a mitt, laughing.
"I'll whip you, boy." He said in his good ol' boy voice.
"Quit staring at me like I broke it off with you." Fabri jabbed him in the arm. "But you know.when that cousin of yours gets older." He smiled mischievously.
"That's it!" Jack hollered and he ran after him down the street.
Jack caught him and jumped on his back. Fabri turned him around into headlock, rubbing his knuckles into his hair.
"Not as bad as all the things I could do to your sister!" Jack freed himself and gave Fabri a shove as he ran down the street.
As the two inseparables bounded home, hollering and guffawing they were passed by a certain flaky, blonde tart that went by the name of Vianne. They both turned their heads to watch her go by, shaking her behind from side to side. Then they pretended that they hadn't been looking and silently resented the other.
It is often a rule of such best friends to never let a woman come between them. Unfortunately, rules are meant to be broken. Especially if they're names were Jack Dawson and Fabrizio De Rossi.
With Vianne, Adolf, and a few new evils building, the next month would become explosive.
"You must help, Jack." Jean pleaded.
"It's your building not mine. You need to take it upon yourself to take action. It took Hamlet forever to take action and look what happened to him." Jack sat on the grass continuing to sketch the picnicking elderly couple.
"I'm not a Danish prince, I'm a French waiter."
"Adolf's not much of a fighter. He's an artist like me. He just sits up on the hill and doodles like the rest of us, even if he is a bit of sour grape.and he threw a rotten apple at me when I talked to Vianne-"
"She's trouble."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Adolf." Jack changed the subject.
Jack was about to protest. He didn't like the kid, but ousting him from Pierre, Marie, and Jean's apartment building was not exactly on his to-do list.
"Alright, Dawson," Pierre sat down next to him, "you need to get that whiny artist out of our floor." Great, Jean had brought his French army with him.not that the French army was exactly a force to be reckoned with.
"Hey, watch the 'whiny artist' bit.and you either have to deal with him or get him out yourselves.and why are you asking me?"
"Because you are the big, tough American hot shot." Simone gave him a comradely punch in the arm.
"I'm not big and tough. I'm a whiny artist, remember?" Jack half-smiled, "if you want brawns ask Fabri, he's stronger than I am."
"You have good people skills," said Marie, "and you are that cute little, baby-faced boy that everyone adores." She pinched his cheek patronizingly.
"Stop it," Jack smirked, "you're making me blush."
It took forever and a day to get them to leave him alone, but they gave up eventually. Jean stayed the longest. For a shy kid, he was pretty persistent.
"I tell you. It is a good idea."
"See you tonight, Jean."
"Fine. You know, I will do this myself. I don't need you." Jean started walking down the hill past all the artists seeking inspiration. Jack looked forlornly at his sketchbook. He'd been desperate to draw all day, but between work at the café he had no time. And Simone had been putting him off about being drawn.
*Finally*, Jack thought and smiled sweetly at his art. "Alright, I'm back again." Interrupted Jean. *Why, God?!*
"Now what?"
"Can I borrow three sous? I'm taking Catherine out tonight." Jack normally would have refused, but it was not so often that Jean worked up the bravery to talk to a girl so he begrudgingly reached into his pockets.
"Am I ever gonna see this again?" Jack asked.
"Of course, of course.and think about the whole Adolf thing!" Jean skipped down the hill.
Jack ran his through his hair as the summer wind blew in his face. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had a feeling he was in for a long week.
***
Manhattan, That same day
It was a blazing hot day in Midtown and it was getting even hotter on Tenth Avenue. And all because of an eleven year-old.
"FREE MANHATTAN!" Emily Dawson hollered, standing on a soapbox. She had been screaming that for that past twenty minutes whilst rambling about oppression and dictators. She hopped off her box and left when she got bored.
"You had a bit of crowd there." Her best friend, Mary McBride smiled.
"I know. I didn't even know what I was talking about! It was amazing!"
"I don't know. But protesting in the street and shouting and all that always seemed kind of self-centered and obnoxious, even if Maggie and Joe say it's a sign of a healthy democracy."
"Eh," sighed Em, "I was hoping for a riot or something, but maybe next time."
"Riots are fun," Mary nodded thoughtfully, "I still say you're crazy though."
"My dad said that H.G. Wells said that moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.whatever that means."
"Your dad knows a lot of quotes."
"Yeah, especially Oscar Wilde."
***
"You think we win?" Fabrizio twirled a bat, ready for some baseball in the park.
"What are you kiddin' me?" laughed his best friend, "Simone has one leg and Adolf's crazy."
"You still taking them up on that offer to kick him out?"
"No. I think Jean needs to learn to take his own initiative. And just because I'm American doesn't mean I'm trained in bar fights. I grew up on a farm with my dad teaching me how to fish and my mama fussing with my hair. Don't those four realize they're the tough city people.then again Emily grew up with me, she's tough.but she's crazy."
"Are we starting this thing?" Pierre hit Fabrizio in the back.
"Oui! Let's go!" giggled Marie, who came skipping up behind them. Cherry wood hair, rosie cheeks and all.
"Nice uniform, Marie. Professional?"
"Marie in a skirt, extra points for team Jack, Fabrizio, and a few others." Fabrizio whispered to his best friend. Jack nodded mischievously. Baseball in a skirt. Who would've thought?
"Mmmm?" Marie inquired.
"Nothing." They laughed.
"Laugh now." Pierre smirked.
"Baseball is an American sport. You're in my country now, boy." Jack stared him. He was now in his baseball frame of mind. It was time to take out the trash.
***
"This is a farce." Jack looked on in disbelief. Sure enough they were winning.because the other team either lacked skill or general knowledge of the game.
Marie threw like the girl she was, but she could hit all right. Unfortunately, she kept running to third after each crack of the bat. That and her skirts kept dragging her down.
"Other way! Other way! Go to first! First! Go to the right!" Jack shouted.
Every time Adolf struck out or messed up in any way shape or form he threw a fit.
"Nein! Nein!" He would throw his mitt to the ground.
"Get over it!" Fabrizio shouted. "Stupid German." He said quietly to Jack.
"He's Austrian."
"He feels more German. More crazy."
Then there was Jean, who was on Jack and Fabrizio's team. Jean picked flowers in the outfield and played more like a girl than Marie.
"Like this. Hold the bat like this. Choke up more. It's not a dainty loaf of pastry, Jean. It's a baseball bat." Jack moved Jean's hands farther up the bat. "It is a large, wooden baseball bat. It is a powerful, manly instrument that you will use to swing the shit out of that ball." Jack shook his fists for emphasis on every word. "Tell me you can do this, Jean."
"Oui! Oui! Je peux!" P "That's the spirit, kid!"
Laurent Guerin pulled back and delivered a pitch.Jean swung with all his might. He spun around and hit himself square in the behind with the bat, and fell awkwardly to the ground. Laurent had a lousy arm; the ball went a few two feet over Jean's head.
"Bastard." He whispered weakly.
"Jean! Jean!" Fabri ran over to help up his poor friend.
"You alright?" Jack asked.
"Right in the ass! Brilliance!" Simone roared as Jean lay on his stomach.
"I didn't think that was humanly possible!" laughed Pierre.
"Were you two born this sensitive or did you have to practice?" Marie looked at Simone and Pierre. Poor Jean was utterly crushed.
"I'm sorry, buddy."
"I want to go home."
Jack shook his head and looked mournfully over at Fabrizio.
"The French can't play ball."
***
"I can't believe we left a game unfinished." Jack sighed.
"I don't know about you, but I couldn't take no more."
"Yeah, I guess.the baseball gods won't like this."
"Do the 'baseball gods' like your cousin trying to put a curse on the Highlanders?"
"I don't think it's possible to curse the Highlanders. I just don't feel it ever happening. Maybe there could be a curse on the Red Sox. I could see that."
"I'm going to have to get L'America just so I can know these teams you talk about."
"Today, *L'America* turns 134. Back home there's fireworks going off everywhere. July 4 is just about the best holiday next to Christmas."
"You take me to see the fireworks one day?"
"Absolutely, I'll buy you a frankfurter and some ice cream, and maybe even win you a bear."
"Is touching, but I saw the drawing of your aunt. She's much cuter than you. You're a bit scruffy."
"What are you saying about my aunt?" P "Nothing! Nothing! It's what I'm thinking about her that should make you mad!"
Jack whapped him in the back with a mitt, laughing.
"I'll whip you, boy." He said in his good ol' boy voice.
"Quit staring at me like I broke it off with you." Fabri jabbed him in the arm. "But you know.when that cousin of yours gets older." He smiled mischievously.
"That's it!" Jack hollered and he ran after him down the street.
Jack caught him and jumped on his back. Fabri turned him around into headlock, rubbing his knuckles into his hair.
"Not as bad as all the things I could do to your sister!" Jack freed himself and gave Fabri a shove as he ran down the street.
As the two inseparables bounded home, hollering and guffawing they were passed by a certain flaky, blonde tart that went by the name of Vianne. They both turned their heads to watch her go by, shaking her behind from side to side. Then they pretended that they hadn't been looking and silently resented the other.
It is often a rule of such best friends to never let a woman come between them. Unfortunately, rules are meant to be broken. Especially if they're names were Jack Dawson and Fabrizio De Rossi.
With Vianne, Adolf, and a few new evils building, the next month would become explosive.