AFTER STARTING ANEW
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rose blinked, her eyes watering slightly from
the haze of cigarette smoke that hung in the air. She glanced out the open
windows of the dim bar watching the coming and going of everyday Parisians on
their way home from work. Rough looking men from the river sat at tables
outside lifting their eyebrows and making rude comments as chic young women
hurried past in classic black and white. Their high heels clicked rapidly on
the sidewalk, the sound mimicking the fast paced life of Paris. This was a
Paris she had known existed only in books. And it was the one she was seeing
through Jack’s eyes. Soaking up the casual atmosphere and the disregard for
propriety that one found in certain sections of Montmartre. A city not of Chanel
and Worth, but rather the Edith Piaf’s, poor artists, and students of
philosophy. Where Rose felt more at home than she ever had at the Ritz Hotel.
She and Jack had stopped at a sidewalk cafe for lunch and then he had dragged
her across the street to a bakery where he gently teased her as they consumed
several cream puffs. She thought they were done with their sightseeing for the
day when Jack had taken her down the block to this rather nondescript bar. They
were seated at a table in the corner where they could easily watch the
activities both inside and out, but where they were not obvious to the other
customers.
"Rose, we don’t want to call any
attention to ourselves. Some of these guys can get a little rough after a few
drinks. They don’t mean any harm, but if they see someone like you, they might
get ideas." He had grasped her hand tightly and grazed the side of her
face with his mouth.
Rose looked down at the table, amused at
Jack’s protectiveness, but yet trusting his judgment of such a place. She knew
from the past, that he was not trying to stifle her curiosity, only to keep her
safe. It was plain to see that he had been used to being in such establishments
in the days before he had met her. She wondered if it was in such a place that
he had met the women that he had drawn. Looking back now, she could only
remember two of the pictures. One was the tattered old woman he had called
‘Madame Bijou’ and the other had been the hands of the one legged prostitute.
While it would have been interesting to see some of those people for herself,
she was sure of several things. One was that Jack had no interest in doing
anymore drawings like that of other people and two, these women were very
likely gone from Paris. Either dead or scattered during the war. As she had
been surveying her surroundings, Jack seemed to be absorbed in a city map that
he had spread out on the table.
"Looking for someplace special?"
she asked.
Without glancing up, he said, "No, I
know where we are. I just can’t quite figure out how we got here." He
traced his finger along several streets and boulevards on the map and then
tapped his index finger on one particular spot. "Rose, you won’t believe
this, but we just happened to end up on the exact street where I did all those
drawings. You know, the ones I showed…"
"Yes, Mr. Dawson," she said coyly.
"The ones you showed me on the boat. The ones of…" She stopped when
she saw the sheepish expression on his face. She wondered now what they would
have thought as parents if some unemployed, unkempt artist had showed such
pictures to one of their girls. So far, neither of them had any complaints
about their son and daughter’s choice of spouses, but she was certain that Jack
would not be too charitable if any brash young man came calling on either of their
two unmarried daughters. In her mind she knew he would be quick to forget how
very undesirable he had been to her mother. Rose wanted so badly to tease Jack
about that, but she was distracted when she saw a waiter heading for their
table, bearing a tray of glasses and a bottle.
Jack looked up startled as two wineglasses
and a bottle were plunked down unceremoniously on the table before him. He slid
his hand from Rose’s and looked up to find a young man wearing a long white
apron standing next to the table. Jack glanced quickly at Rose and then back at
the waiter. "Rose, ask him what this is all about? What little French I
knew is long gone. We didn’t order anything," he hissed under his breath.
Rose quickly nodded her head and closed her
eyes for a second. She had not spoken French to a French person in twenty-six
years. Her only recent link to the language had been a few books that she had
read and helping her children with homework. She needed a moment to pull her
thoughts together, attempting to put together a question in her mind.
"We did not order anything yet. Perhaps
there is some mistake," she said in French, her voice slow and clear and
she made the translation in her head.
A half smile curved along the boy’s mouth,
amused at the woman’s good attempt to communicate with him in his native
tongue. Surely these people would be surprised to find out that he spoke
English. "Merci, Madame. Your French is very good. However, I have learned
to speak English from Madame who is the owner of this place." He paused
and waved a hand to the older woman hunched over the bar. "She takes me in
when I have no place to go and teaches me English. She says that I get tips
from rich Americans that way. Oui?"
"Oui," responded Rose, watching
Jack whose thoughts were obviously elsewhere. She smiled to herself, thinking
that whoever Madame was, she was obviously a good businesswoman.
Jack was staring at the woman behind the
counter. Her blond hair was pinned up in the back of her head in a rather
unkempt version of a French twist. Her skin was blotchy and her figure appeared
bulky under the worn blue sweater she wore. He strained his eyes in the semi
darkness of the room, his forehead furrowing as he tried to hear what she was
saying to a customer. There was something familiar in the way she laughed. In
spite of her dowdy appearance, her laughter was contagious and Jack could not
help but notice the subtle limp as she moved along behind the counter.
The young man nodded and busied himself
clearing the next table. Rose continued to study Jack, confused as to just why
he found the bartender so interesting. Surely he had seen a woman serve drinks
before.
"Jack?" She pulled on the sleeve of
his jacket, trying to get his attention. Since the wine had been delivered to
them, they might as well drink it. Even if they didn’t know why it had been
sent to their table. "Jack? What is it? Someone you know?"
He turned and gazed into Rose’s luminous
eyes. As usual he was dazzled by her brilliant smile, forgetting for a moment
just what it was that had distracted him. Their trip was turning out better
than he had planned and seeing his old haunts again with his wife at his side,
had given him a fresh appreciation for the "City of Love." Each new
day had brought adventure and discovery, not only of places that she had never
seen, but also in the depth of emotion their love still carried after
twenty-six years of marriage.
Jack reached for the bottle of wine and
poured some into each glass. Carefully he set the tall container down on the
table and then reached for both of Rose’s hands. He slowly drew them to his
mouth and pressed a kiss against each fingertip. The expression on her face
brought to mind their languid mornings and blissful nights. Never in his
wildest dreams when he was a young man of twenty that a few short weeks after
roaming the streets of Paris would he meet the love of his life, and barely
escape with that life in one of the great tragedies of the century. He watched
Rose’s mouth curve into a delicate smile and her eyes close slowly as he slowly
rubbed his thumb along the sides of her fingers. Once she had told him it
evoked delicious, erotic feelings and judging by what he saw, apparently he had
not lost his touch.
"So Monsieur Jacques, eet ees you.
Nest-ce pas?" A familiar throaty voice called him back to reality and he
looked up to see the proprietress of the bar, the woman he’d been staring at
before. "Oui, mon ami. I would recognize those eyes of yours anywhere.
Even now at the bar, Claudette feels you looking at her."
Jack shook his head slowly, amazed that after
so many years and so little time spent together, that Claudette would recognize
him. He cleared his throat in an attempt to answer; praying that Rose would not
lose her temper before she found out what was going on. Giving her a reassuring
wink and still holding tightly to her hands, Jack finally found his voice.
"Claudette, I thought it was you. I just
couldn’t be sure. So you remembered me, after all these years."
"Oui, Jacques, one does not forget a man
such as yourself. And naturally you would want to be with the most beautiful
woman in the room." She sank clumsily into the empty chair at the table
and at the same time put down an empty glass on the rough surface. Claudette
turned to Rose, nodding her head up and down in approval, while Rose searched
Jack’s face for an answer to the uninvited guest at their table. "Don’t
let him fool you with all his fancy talk, mademoiselle. Monsieur Jacques will
have you up in one of my rooms posing for one of his pictures. That’s all he
wanted me for. And me, what am I? A...how is a polite way to say…a woman of the
night with only one leg." Claudette stamped the floor with her wooden
stump to emphasize the point.
Rose stifled a giggle, understanding now,
just who this woman was. Her mind was spinning, not comprehending how their
trip had led them to this side street bar and a fragment from Jack’s past. She
bit her lips, recalling their conversation about Claudette. ‘I think you must
have had a love affair with her…’ ‘No, no, just with her hands.’ She glanced
down surreptitiously at the woman’s hands. They were just as Jack had told her
so many years ago. Her hands were beautiful. In spite of her weathered face and
mottled skin, her hands remained elegant. Long tapered fingers, with well-shaped
nails rested delicately on top of one another. As if they were caressing a
velvet pillow instead of a worn, rough table.
"So, Jacques, I see you are not drinking
so much wine these days." Claudette held the dark bottle up to the light
examining the remaining contents. "You have not touched even half. Now in
the old days, Jacques…oh, oh, so many bottles would we drink while you were
upstairs with the drawings."
Jack lifted his forehead and gave Rose a weak
smile. He knew he had nothing to hide from Rose about his days in Paris, but
suddenly he felt uncomfortable with his past. Maybe because there were so many
twists and turns that his life had taken in those early months of 1912. Anyone
of them could have changed the course of his life, preventing him from ever
knowing and loving Rose. It was too painful to consider a life without her.
"Well, Claudette, I’ve lived a lot of life since then. I’ve found that I
could do my drawings without being high on bottles of wine. In these past years
I’ve found something else that inspires me to do even better work." He
looked at Rose, who blushed deeply. Both of them were remembering the first
drawing.
"Ah, so what might that be? And you
mademoiselle, perhaps you are the one who inspires my friend Jacques."
Claudette stared at Rose as she reached for the empty glass and filled it with
some wine. She took a long sip and let the ruby red drink slide down her
throat. Leaning back against her chair, she studied the couple before her. She
assumed that they were involved in some way, but Jack had been such a dreamer,
a drifter, that surely he had never settled down. This woman was perhaps his
latest conquest. There was a light in both of their eyes, an eagerness that
indicated their feelings for one another were fresh and new. Yes. This must be
Jack’s newest lover. "I can only imagine Jacques that you have had no
trouble attracting the most beautiful women both here and in America. That is
where you were headed when I last saw you, non?"
A wide smile spread across Jack’s face as he
listened to Claudette’s words. The most beautiful woman was to whom he had been
attracted. He reached across the table and lifted Rose’s left hand so that her
wide gold wedding band was clearly visible. "Well, you are partially
right, Claudette. But it wasn’t the beautiful women in the world. It is this
one woman here. Rose. My wife."
The older woman sat stunned. Never. Jacques,
taking a wife. Surely this must be most recent. "You are on your honeymoon
then?"
Jack shook his head back and forth. "No,
we’ve been married for twenty-six years. We have five children."
"Five children?" Claudette’s eyes
went immediately to Rose’s torso. Her head moved from side to side in
amazement. "Such a figure still," she said enviously.
He gave Rose a piercing glance, drinking in
the glory of her hair, the radiance of her being. She brightened this dark room
more than a thousand candles could. He was proud of her. And each day realized
more and more just how much he loved her.
Claudette’s hand shook slightly as she raised
her glass in the air. "To you, Jacques and to your Rose. I can see that
you had all the luck in the world following you. You always had that charm
about you and I see it still now. No wonder you didn’t need to drown your
senses and your sorrows with cheap wine. I think the nectar of your love
sustains you both." She clicked her glass against each of theirs and then
tossed her head back, letting the wine numb her throat. Sorry for the life she
had led, yet humbled to think that the romance she had dreamt of lived on in
the couple before her.
Rose felt the heat rise to her cheeks at
Claudette’s frank words. She might be only a bar owner and a "woman of the
night" but Rose saw an understanding in the woman’s face and a comprehension
in her words that showed how much she appreciated what she and Jack had. There
had been time to examine the woman’s features more closely while Jack had been
speaking. Rose guessed that Claudette was not much older than she herself was.
But the wear and tear of her life had aged her far beyond her years. A pity
really, because she seemed a warm, honest person. Claudette set her glass down
and placed both her hands on the table. There was an expression of mischief now
in her eyes. As if a wild idea was forming in her mind. Her head nodded forward
abruptly, looking as though she had come to some firm decision. She reached for
Jack’s arm, shaking it wildly.
"So, Jacques, how would you like to
relive your past?"
Claudette gestured to the stairway in the
opposite corner of the room. "Make some more of your drawings." She
paused emphasizing her point. "Up there." Jack seemed confused for a
moment.
"Drawings of who?" He knew he had
planned to draw Rose up there, even if he’d had to beg and cajole the owner of
this place. He’d never dreamt it would be Claudette. But if she were referring
to drawings of herself, he would draw the line. Making sketches of other women
had gotten him into trouble once before. He was not willing to risk things a
second time. Rose watched the interaction going on at the table. She could not
figure out just what Claudette was planning. Now the woman next to her cuffed
Jack lightly on the shoulder.
"Ah, Jacques. It seems you have grown
stupid in your old age. Not drawings of me. What is left to draw of me? I am a
withered, lame creature with scarcely any looks left to be seen on the street.
No, Jacques. You and your beautiful Rose."
It was Jack’s turn to blush. His surprise for
Rose was spoiled. He had hoped to entice her upstairs to the garret with no
suspicions of what he intended. However, it was an opportunity he could not
pass up. "Well, Claudette, the thought of drawing Rose up there has always
been my dream." Jack paused and studied Rose, the idea of how he would pose
her, already fixed in his mind. He stood up and held out his hand to Rose,
indicating that it was time to go. "Thank you Claudette. We’ll be gone by
the time you close up."
"Claudette, thanks for the wine. Merci
beau coup." Rose let her free hand rest on the woman’s shoulder. Funny she
thought how some women like her were so lucky. Yet others like Claudette
somehow seemed to survive with no malice at all. They just existed in their own
quiet way.
"You needn’t thank me, Rose. It is I who
should be giving thanks. For the opportunity to see such love in my
establishment." Without warning a solemn expression appeared on
Claudette’s face. Her next words were delivered more urgently. "You must
see everything you can in Paris and enjoy the days and nights of beauty here. For
who knows what the future brings. With Monsieur Hitler goose-stepping over his
own country, taking over Austria and pronouncing decrees against the Jews,
tomorrow here in Europe in most uncertain. Live for today. I must get back to
my customers. Au revoir, Rose, Jacques. Au revoir." They watched as
Claudette hobbled back to the wide wooden counter. Rose fought off the sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not another war. No more disasters for the
Dawsons. But then this was a battle amongst Europeans. Surely this time the
Americans would mind their own business. She drew a deep breath, convincing
herself that all would be well. It was time to get her emotions in check.
Certainly it would not do to have Jack draw a weeping woman.
Rose felt a tug on her hand. She saw Jack
studying her, trying to sense what was going on in her head. "Oh, Rosie,
come on. This is thousands of miles from home. Don’t give all that a thought.
Claudette always did like to exaggerate," he said, hoping to comfort Rose.
"Come on. You are about to enter into the secret chamber of my past. Allow
me to escort you." His deep and mysterious voice allowed her imagination
to be carried away to another world. A world unknown to anyone but themselves.
Rose couldn’t help but giggle as Jack went
through the motions of pretending to pull on an imaginary villain’s mustache.
He was right. She would leave all those thoughts right here. This was the
opportunity of a lifetime. To recreate the past, the magical past of Jack’s
youth.