The girl in the window

by deaconlost

She looks out dreamily thinking of the masters son. the cute one. But the daughter of a servant is not for the rich-man's son; either son. besides they don't see her. So off to cooking school in Paris. In a year she will return home, age twenty. to make he way in the world. If only the boy would see her; she could fix his wayward-ways.

2. chp 2 The Paris bistro:

Sabrina 1954:

The girl in the window: chp 2 The Paris bistro:

We landed in Paris; the Professor recalled us. Pierre Fermat, the valedictorian of the class, set the college bistro on fire; ran stoned naked thru the streets. Whacking passerby with four-day old baguettes. That were supposed to be floating under the Swiss and Gruyere cheese in the bistro's famous classic onion soup.

Seems his ex-girlfriend gave him, post make-up sex; mushroom coffee heavily laced with Flying-Saucer-Mushrooms (Psilocybe-Azurescens). Then social media nude's pic of Pierre and junk across the world wide webspace; all the while narrating his faults, size, and past error while dumped him for a hung thirty-year-old bohemia prep chef among the Cafes in Le Marais. I wonder if that will all change when she dumps him. The police were still looking for her as we off-board the plane in Paris.

I so wanted another day is Seville with Linus. The Baron was very sympathetic till he learned it was the other brother I was pining for. But I enjoyed the time with Linus, sweet wines, tasty tapas, and intellectually soothing emotional conversations that soared my mind and heart. We talked of art, music, and literature. For once in my life, I was a real person to him and not a faceless servant in the background.

Sitting in my room, I share an apartment, a third-floor walkup, with three other girls, just around the block, four blocks from the Bistro and six from my school. One girl is an airline stewardess, working on her masters in Sociology during layovers. Another is a legal secretary by day, hopeful stage ingénue, by night. I suspect but will never say; her law degree and bar license before she gets a speaking part on the hardwoods. The third is aspiring to attend every major Rave this year in Europe; Having already attained dancing, if anyone would call those spasmatic movements dancing, in every night club and disco in Paris and the surrounding suburbs before she turns twenty-five, next month.

On my fire escape outside my room. Gazing out across the rooftops of Paris. The tower in the distance looking stark and Poe-ish; I can just see the razor-sharp pendulum swing between the arch crosspieces. I imagine the hunchback on leave from Notre-Dame laughing from the spire. Challenging me to choose?

The smoggy haze of evening rush hour. dampens the scene like an impressionist painting. Mellowing into the landscape. Sipping tea, munching on the store-bought Belgium cookie biscuit I stole from Miss Dramatic Actress. Pay back for eating last semester pastry homework.

I dreamily wonder about Linus; Is he mad I disappeared? Will he hunt me down and make sweet angry love to me? Or will he forget me, and move on to the next fling? Will David be mad? Jealous? Or just indifferent?

These deep and weight thought I ponder deep and eerie in the spring dusk of Paris; as the lights blink on and the light pollution ruins the lost Victorian romantic airs of the neighborhood. I watch the lovers; old and young meander down the street; home? Or cafes? Married or cheating on spouses. I wonder what it would be like to have David's arm? Linus holding my hand? Dreamily I playout the fantasies. Before an early rise to run the Bistro and attend afternoon classes. The quarter moon peaks beyond the clouds; as yawningly my bed wraps the sheet about my weary frame.

Seville: same day:

I search for her, but no one caught her real name. Depressed in the for Ingeniero de sistemas de control industrial de la Legión Azul [blue legion industrial control systems engineer] tent. Listening to the head engineer talk up my new safety glass. The contract will be signed tomorrow. I watch the parade; hoping to see her. Bella where are you?

Seville: Saturday, last day of the festival

I fly out in a couple of hours. The million-dollar contracts are signed, notarized and everything should be right in the world. But it's not. I could not find her over the last few days. Who are you, Bella? Señorita Cocinera [Miss Cook] is a fake name, maybe it was descriptive?

Lucus the head engineer told me La cocina mágica de Estados Unidos. It could be French l'Amérique culinaire magique. His wife laughed that in English, or American it translates to magical culinary American. With Cocinera being cook or chef. She did seem to have an encyclopedia knowledge of food and wines. Maybe that is it?

I miss talking to her; most women are airheads or worse militant about breaking glass ceilings or trophy hunting a rich husband. My brothers two failed marriages demonstrated that and he's not yet twenty-six. Here I wallow at the brink of thirty.

Looking out the airplane window, wondering what she is doing. How I miss her and the emotions I have. She saw me and liked me for me; not the money, or name. Just me, the shy bookworm. A double single Scottish malt, packet of peanuts and long flight back to America and the trouble of David's imminent marriage to Elizabeth Tyson.

We need this profitable opportunity for a great corporate merger. David has cost the company and family enough; Oliver and Maude, Mom and Dad charity and screwball investments. I mean what were they smoking or more likely drinking to invest in a dozen Dot-com fads. Not one made any money before, during or after the bubble burst. I just got the company righted an on-track to turn a decent profit. Between the new recycled plastic and glass fire proof insulation and safety glass for airplanes and cars.

With our revamped real-estate properties and investments. We could get back in the black before years end. The merger of Larrabee Industries and Elizabeth's very wealthy father's transportation and technology businesses. We could reclaim our place as a leader and innovator.

I wish David would grow up and take some of the burden off my shoulders; wishful dreaming, I guess? My eye lids fade, as visions of her, talking about music, books. Of the things I truly enjoy. How my parents' failures negated my teenage and college days. Drafted to be the adult in the house; working like a dog; sixteen hours, some days twenty hours, for months on end.

Dreamscape: 'Swimming laps in the dark, David was cannonballing me; I ignored him and continue to lap the pool. He's laughing with the chauffeur's too young teenage daughter. Her big blue eyes stir feeling I need to repress. She is too young for twenty-five-year-old me. David wanders inside to raid the parent's whisky cabinet. She begins her laps; She always joins me in the pool; when not hiding in her room, or up a tree. Watching the disfunction rich and drunk at the parents' parties. I envy her being outside and not locked in the straight jacket of wealth a family burdens. We just quietly lap the pool, and enjoy the quiet midnight moonlight. Peacefully she never wants anything from me. The only one to not want anything. I wonder how her lips taste; I bet like Bella's.'

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Larrabee building: CEO office: New York City

"Miss McCardle; bring my correspondence for the new license with Corning." She hands me a pile and half. I was only gone four days. I only enjoyed one of those days. The day with Bella. "Really?"

"I separated the spam, the threats, and the idiots. This is what is left. Forty-one items and three hundred and eight emails as of (looking at her watch broach) five minutes ago." She leaves and returns with a coffee, three sugars and one-half ounce of Irish cream syrup. I threw most of the mail in the circular filing cabinet. Most was stuff David was supposed to deal with. Like I'm going to a ball, or theater, or God forbid a disco opening night. When I have so much work to get thru. I start scanning the emails and smashing the delete key.

"i'll order a new keyboard, since that poor thing did nothing to you. But you're pulverizing the poor dear to death." Miss McCardle laughs from her desk outside my door. "Thinking David face on the delete key!" I take a gentler touch but the key still breaks into many, many plastic pieces before the last email in vanquished.

I lean back and close my eyes and think of her. The soft musical voice sooth my savage beast. I see Bella up a tree smirking down on me. What a strange daydream. "Linus? Go home and sleep." Miss McCardle teases me. "Thomas (Fairchild) is down stairs waiting on you. Your travel bags are in the boot." I get up and tossing my suit coat over my shirt, wander down thru the empty building. The moon is brightly shining thru the lobby arched windows. The clock behind the reception rings three am.

Miss McCardle:

Straightening up after he leaves. I can catch a couple of hours sleep in David Larrabee office. The couch pulls out to a bed. Linus will be back hell or highwater by nine am. That man works to hard and his rascally brother hardly works at all. Picking up the Seville contract, a photo falls out. Picking it up. Linus and girl dress in polka-dot dress, with a bullfighter hat and bright flower on the crown. Wayfarer Sunglasses down her nose; the appear to be in a tent, made up like a family parlor. They sit on a love seat; arm around her laughing at something. Looking ten years younger. Wow! He looks happy and relaxed. I put the photo on his desk, then stop.

Wait is that "Sabrina?" no couldn't be; she's broke in Paris; not living it up in Seville. Thomas told me early last night that she was working the Easter break in Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy at a hotel restaurant near the war cemeteries. Earning living expense for next semester. He wouldn't lie. She worked the whole Christmas break in several restaurants around Paris and Le Havre. Earning enough to pay her tuition and housing. Even won two cooking competitions. The Girl can cook; Although I think her baking is head above her skillet work.

I put the picture in my desk locked drawer. If he asks, I'll give it to him; If not I'll wait for Sabrina to come home. It's strange as I'm locking the drawer; I thought she was hot for David, not Linus. Walking into David gaudy decorated office. I think she's a much better fit for Linus than David.

The couch bed is already folded out. Mrs. Lovyss Bradley my coworker up here in the altitude of Manhattan must have set it up before she left. As David is in Miami for Easter and the rest of the month. Checking the beach sand and the swimwear about the beach side hotel.

Sleep takes a minute to hold me fast; the last thought was how perfect Sabrina and Linus would be together. So cool together.